By the Time We Retire
by deeedeee
Summary: For Kissman. A collaboration between imestizaa and deeedeee. After the mortgage proposal and the dismissal to "go and ring that gong," Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes continue their conversation over sherry.


a/n This is a gift from imestizaa and deeedeee to kissman.

We hope you all enjoy this fluffy fluff.

Please leave us a review if you have a moment.

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><p><em>"Go and – ring that gong..."<em>

That evening they met for sherry. There were shy smiles, clearing of throats – some kind of atmosphere hanging over them, layering every interaction with things that they would have left unsaid only a few months ago. But it wasn't enough anymore. Mrs Hughes had decided that she needed to say something, otherwise she would burst.

They both started talking at once.

"So, Mrs Hughes – "

"Mr Carson, I've been thinking – "

They both paused awkwardly. Mr Carson raised a hand and waved at her to continue. "Please, go ahead – "

She tightened her grip on the stem of her glass.

"No, please, I insist – " She stopped, took a deep breath, bit her lip. She was fully aware of the ridiculousness of this entire situation. This was _Mr Carson_ sitting across from her. The same Mr Carson she sat next to every morning at breakfast. The same Mr Carson who sought her advice about the Memorial Committee. This was the same man who once held her hand because _he_ felt unsteady.

The same man who feared change, who shuddered at the mere thought of it. At one time, he couldn't even picture his life beyond Downton.

But now, he suddenly could. This new development made her unsteady; yet somehow, it gave her strength.

Mrs Hughes ran her finger along the side of her glass. "Earlier, when we were talking about a cottage, what did you mean when you said "by the time we retired'?"

He blinked, tried to calm his rushing thoughts. He had not been expecting this turn in the conversation. "I – I don't know what I meant," he frowned.

Mrs Hughes' shoulders slumped. Perhaps he hadn't meant anything by it. Perhaps she was reading too much into his use of 'we.'

Seeing her dejected look, he swallowed the lump in his throat. He could end this uncomfortable conversation abruptly, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Not with her avoiding his gaze and biting her lip. "I'm curious, Mrs Hughes, what would you like to do... " He paused, cleared his throat. Tried to think of the best way to delicately phrase the question burning at the forefront of his mind. "What would you like to do in retirement?" The words came out in a rush.

"You heard what I said earlier." Her lip curled sardonically. "Who says I'll live to retire?"

"I thought you were joking," Mr Carson shook his head, flinching at her offhand comment. "There isn't anything... recurring, is there?"

She looked up at him sharply. "What do you mean?"

"I think you know." It was a statement, not an accusation.

She opened her mouth to defend her actions from years ago, then relented when she saw the pain in his expression. She did know exactly what had caused his concern. They had never discussed her scare, but now seemed like as good a time as any.

"No. Nothing like that."

"Thank God." She'd never heard him sound so vulnerable.

He was sitting across the small table from her. His big hand, gentle fingertips at the base of the sherry glass. Oddly, she could see his pulse in the light, between his thumb and the back of his hand. She watched it speed up.

It would be so easy to reach across the table and take his hand in hers, to reassure him with a touch when words failed her.

"I was joking, Mr Carson," she said softly.

"I wish you wouldn't," he looked into his glass, swished his sherry around. "Not about that."

He looked up to find her frowning at… something. He followed her gaze, curious about what had captured her interest. Then he realized she was staring at his hand.

"Do I have something – ?" He moved his hand, studied it carefully under the dim light.

"What? No…" She shook her head and firmly averted her eyes.

Several questions formed in his mind, but as soon as he looked back at her, they died on the tip of his tongue. She looked … rosy, and she wouldn't look at him.

"Never mind it." She shook her head in an attempt to brush him off.

He hummed noncommittally, perhaps even skeptically. She chose to ignore the doubt it implied.

"So." She clasped her hands tightly together..

He looked up, eyebrows raised, listening. His lips in a slight pout, he looked… _mild._

Her heart skipped a beat.

_Get away with you_, he'd said a few days ago. In that _tone._

She took a deep breath.

She had to ask it. It just had to come out.

"When you asked if we should invest in a property together, did you say it with a mind to us living there together?"

He blinked.

She held her breath. It was out there and there was no going back.

Mrs Hughes was normally the epitome of discretion. But this directness suited her. So well, in fact, that in that moment he thought perhaps he'd never seen anything so beautiful as this nervous, courageous woman sitting across from him.

She deserved his honesty.

"Yes."

She let out a shaking breath and smiled in relief. "And so, Mr Carson, does that mean we'll need a cottage with … two bedrooms? Or just one?"

His eyes widened at the boldness of her question; so did hers.

"That depends on you, Mrs Hughes."

"I'd say it depends just as much on you."

She looked him straight in the eye; now he was the one who couldn't breathe. He blinked several times, swallowed. His mouth felt like sandpaper.

His sherry glass stood on the table, his hand next to it. He felt his hands growing cold from nerves.

"Yes, it does depend on me, doesn't it." He sounded almost weary.

She took a sip of her sherry, her hand trembling in time with her pounding heart. She was afraid, suddenly, that she'd misread him these last weeks_. Get away with you_, he'd said with such tenderness; she could have sworn he'd been flirting with her but who could tell with him, really? He blew hot and cold. But now he was stumbling, more than she'd ever seen him do.

"It does," she said very quietly, her hand resting across the table from his. "Stalemate." She shrugged, took a final swig of her drink, and raised her eyebrows pointedly at him.

He caught her meaning immediately. "Oh, I hardly think we're opponents, do you?"

"I don't know," she sighed as she placed her empty glass on the table before her. "Maybe. Sometimes. When we act that way."

"I don't want to be your opponent."

She laughed, a light sound that he rarely heard. He thought how he'd like to make her laugh more often. "I should hope not, if you want to share a cottage with me . It'll be much closer quarters than we have now."

"I would love that." He smiled. Her hands froze, she glanced at him, panic-stricken, and the implication of what he'd just said hit him like a train.

She couldn't possibly have heard him right. _Love. He said love_. Her heart thudded in her chest; she could hear it.

"Would you?" Her voice cut out on the last syllable, becoming a whisper.

This conversation was already teetering over a very precarious line. He had fully intended on retreating back to safety, but then his eyes finally met hers and he couldn't stop himself from falling over the line. After all, she was_ Mrs Hughes_ and she was asking with tears welling in the corners of her eyes, and he would do anything and everything to make her happy.

And so, he nodded.

"And would you? Like to share… ahem, close quarters with me?" He sounded as uncertain and breathless as he had earlier while discussing their "business venture."

"I would." She blushed bright red, quite prettily, he thought. "More than you realize."

He straightened in his seat. "We would have to be married." It was almost a formality.

Her little laugh made her blink and two tears did fall from her eyes. "Yes, I suppose we would. Is that so terrible?"

"I wouldn't think so, no…" His serious tone calmed her immediately.

"I wouldn't think so either," she breathed.

"Will you, Mrs Hughes?"

"Will I what?" She smiled through her tears.

He straightened his waistcoat and let out an exasperated sigh. "You aren't making this easy."

"I know." Her little smile was contagious. "I don't mean to make it difficult, my love –"

She bit her lips together and blushed furiously at her boldness.

He had gasped as soon as he heard it.

"Say that again, Mrs Hughes – please."

"I can't." Her voice was so small, so fragile. He wasn't accustomed to seeing her like this.

"What– why?"

"I need to know it from you too."

Her quiet voice drew the words out of him. Painlessly.

"I love you."

All at once it was as simple as that, a man and a woman who loved each other. Planning their future together.

And he got down on one knee, joints cracking some – he barely got the question out before she was saying "yes" and pulling at his hand, guiding him to the chair.

"Yes yes yes. Without a doubt. Yes."

Her smile was more brilliant than any he'd seen before and when she leaned down and kissed him, he reached up and cupped her face, drawing her down to him.

His lips were soft on hers; their hearts leapt as they kissed for the first time.

When they broke apart, she leaned her forehead against his and grinned. Her voice had that music again, like the time she'd offered her hand to steady him – always.

"So, just one bedroom, I think. Wouldn't you agree?"

THE END


End file.
